


the ride

by oosthie



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-01-31 14:00:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18592705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oosthie/pseuds/oosthie
Summary: As he heads to the docks, Oswald reflects about the past and vengeance (based on the episode 3x20).





	the ride

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on the final episode of season three "Pretty Hate Machine", right after Oswald has hit Edward to unconsciousness. It has been in my folder for quite a while and since Gotham ended today, I thought why not posting it?

Edward's body is heavy.

With a complexion as lanky and bony as his, dragging him towards the police car should have been less tiresome for Oswald, despite the six feet height.

It's almost disappointing how his outfit looks nearly intact, the suit is merely rumpled and dusty after hauling him over the stony, dirty concrete so typical of Gotham.

“Well, _Ed_.” Oswald procures to make an emphasis in the name, pouring venom in it. Of course there is no response, but that has never stopped him. “I think you and I will take a little ride now.”

Mischievously, Oswald smiles at the sight of Edward lying on the ground ―steady, unconscious, with his head leaning against the back of the police car, and a reddish mark on his nape, where Oswald had hit him with a metal bar.

Even the color of it is… thrilling, but that is all.

The adrenaline rush and boiling blood he tends to feel at times like these make him hesitant to move the slightest. It has always been pleasing to stare and relish every second of him retrieving the upper hand again and again. However this time, he is conscious there is no time for such luxury, and when Jim and Bullock manage to come out of the abandoned warehouse, he gets to smile and wave them goodbye before driving away with Edward at the backseat.

 

 

Because Oswald knows Gotham like the back of his hand, it doesn't take long for him to find a secluded place to park without being disturbed. His focus is entirely on every needed call, every detail, every loose end and every possibility within his last minute revenge plan.

As he prepares the very last piece of it, taking out the bullets from the gun he will use to trick Edward, he assures himself this is right.

Most of his success ―as in he walking safely out of the docks with one less enemy― depends dangerously on the knowledge Oswald has about this man and nothing more.

But _fortune favors the bold_ , and these past days Oswald hasn't done anything but proved that he is brave and that he deserves a good outcome out of this.

The scheme is quite simple and yet risky. If Oswald is right, as he tends to be, a man like Edward Nygma ―a man of planification and an intrinsic, desperate need to complete everything he has started in exacting fashion― must repeat it all and take Oswald to the docks once again. However this time, Edward will be the one with a bullet piercing him, boring through his chest ―crimson streams being spilled slowly as they slip from his slender fingers, falling, dripping all over his shiny shoes and stupid hat.

A shiver runs through Oswald’s spine, pricking the most delicate nerves of his back and forcing him to recall every single time he has been in that place, particularly the last one. The taste of blood rushes back to him, acid and unforgettable, its odor comes back with the fresh memory of pulsing, sharp, unbearable pain going through his body ―starting from the place between his ribs, right towards his throat. That awful nauseous feeling threatens to choke him over again.

Oswald remembers everything prior to that as well, every exchanged word, every movement and every detail from that evening; it’s merely part of him to never actually _forget_. There was faint fog surrounding them, slags from the heavy smoke coming from the city ―a particular detail that he had always found likeable, even in _unpleasant_ situations. Edward stood right in front of him, dressed in ashy green and pointing at him with a gun.

Edward fixed his grip on the weapon almost every couple of seconds, his hands were slightly shaking, discomfort curled in his factions, and he was visibly distracted. Oswald had hoped then, that he would step back and forgive him, for he had discovered what true love meant at that time.

Even then, seconds before pulling the trigger, he looked enticing.

There was something in Edward demonstrating who he truly was that would caught Oswald off guard anytime. Behind all those layers of meticulousness, quietness, and even compliance, there were his complex mind and a killer instinct ―the latent desire for cold blooded murder that only Oswald could see.

Edward would never be satisfied by settling with a _normal life_. Even less at the side of a boring librarian.

From the rear view, Oswald can see Edward is still unconscious, with his low breathing muffled by the mundane sound of sirens on the streets. It feels slightly horrifying, whatever it is that sensation Oswald has every time he looks at him. There are traces of what he felt before, twisted and degraded to something that now suppresses his chest.

This must be the most personal revenge he has ever got, besides the one he is still planning for the death of his mother.

Oswald curses under his breath, realizing he had forgotten a key element for his plan, his tie pin. For personal reasons. He should have placed it before getting Edward in the back seat, he realizes when he opens the back door.

Desperate but cautious, he tries to place the pin between the seat behind him. Yet when doing so, he brushes the tip of his nose in the other’s suit unintentionally.

Edward’s scent has always been a heavy cologne as precise and sharp as him, but now it's shadowed by the smell of alcohol and cigarettes. Oswald blames Barbara and her little club for that.

Even now, the faint scent lingers in Oswald, bringing memories back to him.

Oswald had always loved _the touch, the contact_. He won't deny it, that at every occasion he had, he would wrap his arms around Edward and hold him in an embrace for as long as he could. Tracing soothing circles on his upper back, gripping his shoulders possessively, playing with the fabric. The height difference was never important, but in those moments, it was pleasant to have Edward's neck and shoulders exposed at his will.

Sometimes, he would sneak one or two small kisses, over the fabrics of the suit in hopes that Edward wouldn't notice.

It seems he never did, not once.

Edward, on the other hand, wasn’t affectionate ―or at least physically. His hugs wouldn't last more than a few seconds and sometimes, he wouldn't even return the ones that were given to him. He was simply permissive with all the affection that Oswald would give him and would surrender to stay still and comprehensive.

This didn't matter, as long as he was there to not let Oswald starve from the feeling of having him around, of being able to touch him. Besides, that indulgence that Edward allowed for him and only him made Oswald feel… special.

The thought, at this point and moment, is unbearable.

Oswald straightens his back and gives a few steps back, not losing the sight of Edward. To take a last long look at him seems appropriate, there surely won't be time after he puts a bullet through his heart.

It’s terribly easy to remember the very first encounter they ever had. Edward was quite different then, he was lankier, shy, weak, and had an uncanny trembling excitement at the sight of him at the GCPD. If only Oswald had known everything that would happen after that day, perhaps things would have gone differently.

But that doesn't matter anymore, what _does matter_ is that Oswald was right.

That shivering, sputtering… _weirdo_ , was merely a joke of what Edward Nygma would become later thanks to Oswald’s intervention. This, _the Riddler_ , as ridiculous as that name might sound, was _his_ gift to him.

“This, whatever it was… all of this had its moments, right Ed?”

Realizing that he has to go already, Oswald decides he wants to keep at least one single memory of him, as he tends to be a somewhat melancholic man. However, as his mind goes through several different memories, the last memory that he can focus on is back at Edward’s apartment. Odd.

Within all that blabbering of fate that now sounds pitiful ―blabbering that Oswald still can’t understand why he was actually listening to― there was something that Edward said that it was important. If there is something worth remembering about Edward Nygma’s existence, is that single moment.

_For some, love is a strength, but for you and I, it will always be our most creepiling weakness._

Oswald has always felt disgusted by the sole thought of being weak ―to be no more than the umbrella boy he used to be. It is quite distasteful to understand that he let his feelings get in the way of his legacy. And now, he feels like throwing up as he stares at a man, a simple man, that just with his presence, has managed to make Oswald unable to say farewell for once.

The feeling of revenge turns from bittersweet to sour at the thought of never talking to Edward again. With all the romantic feelings Oswald developed aside, he had found in Edward more than a just an associate he could get rid off eventually. He was his right hand, his confidant, the person Oswald would have trusted his life to, despite all the treason he had been gone through all these years.

They shared, or so Oswald believes, the comfort of friendship and company when no one else could fulfill that role. In a city full of backstabbing and disgrace, Oswald knew there would be at least one place for both to be not only contempt, but secure.

It's with a scoff of disbelief, that he realizes his words back at the docks could had been a double sided sword, that killing Edward would kill a part of him as well, one that he isn’t sure he wants to bury yet.

Oswald groans and closes the door, with the impotence of not being able to change what he feels even after all this time. He holds his urges to scream of rage, of disbelief, but most of all, of helplessness.

There must be something he can do, to avoid the embarrassment, the hesitance, and the failure of not being able to kill the man he has been hunting down for the past weeks. Something similar or worse than death for Edward, without having to vanish him at all.

As Oswald gets to the driver seat once more and picks Edward’s phone, he tries to not get asphyxiated by his own frustration.

In the rear view, he looks at Edward once more and then looks at himself. He looks tired, particularly insane and pathetic, but behind all that, he is still Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot. He is the man that that should be able to outfox everyone that stands in his way.

Something as _love_ cannot be his downfall, even if he feels it pulsing at every part of his body, poisoning him.

And if he can beat it, he at least cannot forget it.

 

 

Oswald makes just one more call.

And as Edward Nygma wakes up, Oswald finally understands it. Feelings should be buried for now.

Forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.


End file.
